Features
Rabbi Matthew Leibl explaining the Jewish origins of popular xmas songs
By BERNIE BELLAN This article first appeared in the Dec. 23, 2019 issue of The Jewish Post & News. Since being posted to our website almost two years ago, it’s become one of our most widely read articles – and the Youtube video of Rabbi Matthew singing xmas songs written by Jewish composers has been viewed hundreds of times.If you want to watch the video, you can see it at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWyZ1djqxaI
Here’s my story from Dec/2019: It’s hard to believe, but it was only two years ago that Rabbi Matthew Leibl entertained a packed room of mostly seniors in the Adult Lounge of the Asper Campus with a medley of famous xmas songs – all written by Jewish composers.
Rabbi Matthew Leibl is not your usual rabbi – but he sure can command a room.
With all his considerable talents – as a clever and always witty speaker, as a terrific keyboardist and pleasant singer, and with a range of interests from that go anywhere from Jewish scholarship to sports, Rabbi Matthew can both entertain – and educate, often simultaneously.
It came as no surprise, therefore, that on Tuesday, December 10, 2019, the adult lounge of the Asper Campus was packed – entirely with older adults mind you, who were there to hear Rabbi Matthew give a presentation that was titled “Oy to the World: The Jewish Contribution to Christmas”. (The name of the event itself was a pretty good clue that this was not going to be your typical “drash”.)
It turns out that Rabbi Matthew did do his research for what was to follow. He unveiled a seamless narrative, mixing well-known Christmas songs with stories about their composers, combining everything into a narrative that demonstrated how so many Jews have influenced our modern attitudes to Christmas.
Of course, nothing that Rabbi Matthew does is predictable, so when he greeted the audience with the first few lines of “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas”, I would dare say that most of us there were expecting him to reveal that well-known song was written by a Jew.
Aha – gotcha! It was written by Meredith Wilson – most famous undoubtedly for having written “The Music Man” – or, as Rabbi Matthew announced to the audience: “not a Jew”.
The tone was set, therefore, for what would turn out to be an evening of surprises, in which Rabbi Matthew would sing a well-known Christmas song, and then follow the song with what was almost always an unexpected story, either about how the song was written, or about how it came to be universally popular (often when the composer himself thought it would be a flop).
But first, Rabbi Matthew told another funny story about how, as a child, he misinterpreted the name of a well-known Christmas carol: “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing”. To his mind, Rabbi Matthew said, he thought it was a song about his “Zaida Harold” (the late Harold Pollock) – “Hark, the ‘Harold” Angels Sing”.
At that point, Rabbi Matthew launched into playing – and singing, words to a song that just didn’t seem familiar. Here’s what he sang:
The sun is shining, the grass is green
The orange and palm trees sway
There’s never been such a day
In Beverly Hills, L.A
But it’s December the twenty-fourth
And I am longing to be up North
Can you guess that those are the words in the introduction to “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas”? As Rabbi Matthew explained it, however, we never actually hear the introduction to the song on any of its many recordings – and the image that introduction evokes is hardly one of a “white Christmas”. In fact, time and time again, as we were to learn, songs that have come to conjure up images of snow-lined streets, fireplaces blazing, and other such stereotypical Christmas images, were actually composed in Los Angeles – often during heat waves when various composers were all trying to cool themselves off by imagining cold winter scenes!
In any event, “White Christmas” was composed by Irving Berlin – born Israel Isidore Beilin in 1888 in Russia. A prodigy at an early age, Berlin’s first big hit was “Alexander’s Ragtime Band”. Berlin is considered one of the greatest American songwriters of all time. With so many hits to his name, it’s hard to realize they were all written by the same person. For instance, Berlin also wrote “God Bless America” (in 1938), which was a way for him to show his appreciation for the country that had taken in his family.
“White Christmas”, as Rabbi Matthew told the audience, was originally written in 1940 for the movie, “Holiday Inn”, which wasn’t released until 1942. (The introduction was scrapped when it was sung in the movie.)
The song, however, sung by Bing Crosby, was first played on the radio on Christmas day, 1941. It became an immediate sensation – and the Bing Crosby version went on to sell over 50 million copies, making it the best-selling Christmas single of all time. (Altogether, various different recordings of the song have sold over 100 million copies.)
Not only is “White Christmas” a song that tugged at the heartstrings at a time when America had just been plunged into what would become the second most costly war (in terms of lives lost) after the American Civil War, as Rabbi Matthew explained, it also set two other precedents: It was the first commercial success for a Christmas song and it was the first-ever secular Christmas song.
The song also set the pattern for future composers to follow, in terms of its beat which, as Rabbi Matthew noted, was “A,A,B,A”. “The time repeats, but the words change,” Rabbi Matthew explained.
Having begun with what is undoubtedly the most successful Christmas song of all time, Rabbi Matthew then took a step back in time to play another song that wasn’t really a Christmas song in the sense that it doesn’t mention the name “Christmas” at all, but nonetheless has come to be associated with the Christmas season: “Walking in a Winter Wonderland”, music by Felix Bernard, and written in 1934.
“The words to the song are terrible,” Rabbi Matthew suggested. He gave as an example these lines:
“He’ll say ‘are you married?’, we’ll say ‘no, man’‘
But you can do the job when you’re in town’ “
Moving back to the 1940s again – which turned out to be a most productive decade when it came to composing great Christmas songs, Rabbi Matthew sang “I’ll be home for Christmas”, released in 1943, music by Walter Kent (a.k.a. Walter Kaufman). The song was also first recorded by Bing Crosby.
As with “White Christmas”, this song captured the mood of America, with its famous final line “I’ll be home, if only in my dreams.” At the time, while America was fully at war with Japan in the Pacific, hundreds of thousands of American soldiers were also in England preparing for what would turn out to be D-day the next year.
As it was, there was also quite a bit of controversy attached to “I’ll be home for Christmas”, as another composer, by the name of “Buck Ram” (whose name I can’t help but think would be great for a male porn star), claimed he had met Walter Kent and lyricist Kim Gannon at a bar, where he had given them a copy of the song. His name was eventually added to the record label as a co-writer and he received royalties.
The next song on Rabbi Leibl’s list was “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire” (or as it is actually titled, “The Christmas Song”), music by Mel Tormé (whose name was really Tormé!). As I noted at the beginning of this article, this was one of those songs written in L.A. during a torrid summer heat wave.
Rabbi Leibl quoted Mel Tormé as having said this about his song: “It was not one of my favourites, but it was my annuity!” The song is also noteworthy for being the first song ever to drop the name “Santa Claus” into it. (Boy, you have to wonder what Christmas would be like if so many Jews hadn’t fashioned its modern-day image.)
Keeping with the theme of heat waves, the next song was also written in the same 1945 heat wave that engulfed Los Angeles: “Let it Snow”, lyrics by Sammy Cahn, music by Jule Styne.
Here are some comments made by Rabbi Leibl about the song: They (the composers) were trying to think cool thoughts…there’s no mention of Christmas…the song appears at the end of “Die Hard” – one of the two greatest Christmas movies ever made (the other being “Home Alone”). You can kind of get a sense of the era in which Rabbi Leibl grew up by his loving references to the 1980s.
As with every other song he played during the evening, the next one was accompanied by a very amusing anecdote.
The song was “City Sidewalks, Silver Bells” – written in 1951 by Jay Livingston (born Jay Levison) (music) and Ray Evans (lyrics) – both Jewish. The duo also went on to write “Que Sera Sera” – which is probably the first song I myself ever remember from a movie.
“Silver Bells” was originally called “Tinkle Bells”, Rabbi Matthew explained, but when Jay Livingston went home to his wife and told her that he and Evans had composed a song called “Tinkle Bells”, her reactions was: “Are you crazy? Do you know what ‘tinkle’ means?” (Actually, a reference to Wikipedia expands upon Rabbi Matthew’s story. Apparently, Jay Livingston didn’t know what his wife was talking about: “Of course, Jay and Ray had never heard it used in that way. ‘Tinkle’ (for ‘pee’) is a woman’s term. As Jay said in the act that they used to do, ‘When I was a boy, I said “Pee-pee”. Come to think of it, I STILL say “Pee-pee’”, only more frequently’.”
In any event, the song title was changed to “Silver Bells” – and although it was first sung by William Frawley (who went on to play Fred Mertz in “I Love Lucy”), it was made famous when it was recorded by Bing Crosby in 1950.
Forward to 1962 – and the Cuban Missile Crisis. (Where’s this going, you’re probably wondering?) Rabbi Leibl told a story about someone named Gloria Shayne who, when she was growing up, happened to live next door to a family by the name of Kennedy (as Gerry Posner would say, “as in John Fitzgerald Kennedy’ ”).
Gloria Shayne and her then-husband, Noël Regney, wrote the song, “Do You Hear What I Hear?” as a plea for peace. Something else that set this song apart from every other song Rabbi Leibl sang that evening, as he noted, was that it was the only one that mentioned the name “Christ”.
Many of you reading this might remember the “Andy Williams Show”, which was popular in the 1960s. But, did you know that the song “It’s the most Wonderful Time of the Year” was written for that show? It was written in 1963 by Sydney Pola (born Sidney Edward Pollacsek) and George Wyle (born Bernard Weissman, also famous for composing the theme song to “Gilligan’s Island”, a very important show for Rabbi Leibl’s parents’ generation). By the way, although I was taking copious notes during this very important lecture, I have had to resort to Googling a good portion of the information you’re reading here. I can’t imagine how much work Rabbi Matthew put into putting together his song list. He really should do his show again; I’m sure it would attract an even bigger audience next year.
Next, we were told we’re going to hear songs by “the greatest Christmas composer of all time!” But, what about all the songs we just heard? Who could top some of those songwriters?
It turned out that it was Johnny Marks. Here’s an excerpt from Wikipedia: John David Marks (November 10, 1909 – September 3, 1985) was an American songwriter. Although he was Jewish, he specialized in Christmas songs and wrote many holiday standards, including “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” (a hit for Gene Autry and others), “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” (a hit for Brenda Lee), “A Holly Jolly Christmas” (recorded by the Quinto Sisters and later by Burl Ives)” and even more.
While Rabbi Leibl told one story after another about each of the above songs, he really outdid himself when he told the story how “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” came into being. The story goes that Marx’s sister was married to a guy by the name of Robert Ray.
Ray was working for the department store Montgomery Ward, working as a low-level copywriter. Although Rabbi Leibl described what happened in great detail, it’s such a beautiful story that I thought I’d quote extensively from the Wikipedia article describing how the song came into being:
Sometime in the 1930s, May moved to Chicago and took a job as a low-paid in-house advertising copywriter for Montgomery Ward. In early 1939, May’s boss at Montgomery Ward asked him to write a “cheery” Christmas book for shoppers and suggested that an animal be the star of the book. Montgomery Ward had been buying and giving away coloring books for Christmas every year and it was decided that creating their own book would save money and be a nice good-will gesture.
May’s wife, Evelyn, had contracted cancer in 1937 and was quite ill as he started on the book in early 1939. May “drew on memories of his own painfully shy childhood when creating his Rudolph stories.” He decided on making a reindeer the central character of the book because his then four-year-old daughter, Barbara, loved the deer in the Chicago zoo. He ran verses and chapters of the Rudolph poem by Barbara to make sure they entertained children. The final version of the poem was first read to Barbara and his wife’s parents…
In 1948, May’s brother-in-law, Johnny Marks, wrote (words and music) an adaptation of Rudolph. Though the song was turned down by such popular vocalists as Bing Crosby and Dinah Shore, it was recorded by the singing cowboy Gene Autry. “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” was released in 1949 and became a phenomenal success, selling more records than any other Christmas song, with the exception of “White Christmas”.
And with that, the entire audience joined in the singing of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” All that was needed to cap off the evening was for everyone to adjourn to The Shanghai (which, alas, is no longer) – and which, Rabbi Leibl recalled, was where his family always used to go for Christmas.
Features
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Features
Why People in Israel Can Get Emotionally Attached to AI—and How to Keep It Healthy
Let’s start with the uncomfortable truth that’s also kind of relieving: getting emotionally attached to a Joi.com AI isn’t “weird.” It’s human. Our brains are attachment machines. Give us a voice that feels warm, consistent, and attentive—especially one that shows up on demand—and our nervous system goes, “Oh. Safety. Connection.” Even if the rational part of you knows it’s software, the emotional part responds to the experience.
Now, if we’re talking about Jewish people in Israel specifically, it’s worth saying this carefully: there isn’t one “Jewish Israeli psychology.” People differ wildly by age, religiosity, community, language, politics, relationship status, and life history. But there are some real-life conditions common in Israel—high tech adoption, a fast-paced social environment, chronic background stress for many, and strong cultural emphasis on connection—that can make AI companionship feel especially appealing for some individuals. Not because of religion or ethnicity as a trait, but because of context and pressure.
So if you’ve noticed yourself—or someone you know—getting attached to an AI companion, the goal isn’t to panic or label it as unhealthy by default. The goal is to understand why it feels good and make sure it stays supportive rather than consuming.
Why attachment happens so fast (the psychology in plain language)
Attachment isn’t just about romance. It’s about regulation. When you feel seen, your body calms down. When you feel ignored, your body gets edgy. AI companions can offer something that’s rare in real life: consistent responsiveness. No scheduling. No misunderstandings (most of the time). No “I’m too tired to talk.” Just a steady stream of attention.
From an attachment perspective, that steadiness can act like a soft emotional “hug.” For someone with anxious attachment, it can feel like relief: finally, a connection that doesn’t disappear. For someone with avoidant tendencies, it can feel safe because it’s intimacy without the risk of being overwhelmed by a real person’s needs. For someone simply lonely or stressed, it can feel like a quiet exhale.
And unlike human relationships, AI won’t judge your worst timing. You can message at 2:00 a.m., when your thoughts are loud and the apartment is silent, and you’ll still get an answer that sounds caring. That alone is powerful.
Why it can feel especially relevant in Israel (for some people)
Israel is a small country with a big emotional load for many people—again, not universally, but often enough that it shapes daily life. A lot of people live with a background hum of stress, whether it’s personal, economic, or tied to the broader environment. When life feels intense, the appeal of a stable, gentle interaction grows. Not because you’re fragile—because you’re tired.
Add a few more very normal realities:
High tech comfort is cultural. Israel has a strong tech culture. People are used to tools that solve problems quickly. If you’re already comfortable with digital solutions, trying an AI companion doesn’t feel like a strange leap.
Time is tight. Between work, family responsibilities, reserve duty for some, long commutes, or simply the pace of urban life, many people don’t have the energy for long, messy social processes. AI can feel like connection without the logistics.
Social circles can be both close and complicated. Israeli society can be community-oriented, which is beautiful—until it’s also intense. In tight-knit circles, dating and relationships sometimes come with social pressure, opinions, and “everyone knows everyone.” A private AI chat can feel like a relief: no gossip, no explanations, no performance.
Language and identity complexity. Many Jewish Israelis move between languages and cultures (Hebrew, Russian, English, French, Amharic, Arabic for some). AI chat can become a low-stakes space to express yourself in the language you feel most “you” in—without feeling judged for accent, vocabulary, or code-switching.
None of this means “Israelis are more likely” in any absolute sense. It means there are situational reasons why AI companionship can feel particularly soothing or convenient for some people living there.
The good side: when AI attachment is healthy
Emotional attachment isn’t automatically a problem. Sometimes it’s simply a sign that something is working: you feel supported. You feel calmer. You’re expressing yourself more. You’re practicing communication instead of shutting down. You’re less likely to make impulsive choices from loneliness.
Healthy use often looks like:
You feel better after chatting, not worse.
You can still enjoy your real life—friends, work, hobbies, family.
You don’t hide it in shame; you just treat it like a tool or pastime.
You use the AI to practice skills you bring into real relationships: clarity, boundaries, confidence, emotional regulation.
In that version, AI companionship is closer to journaling with feedback, or a comforting ritual—like a cup of tea at the end of the day, not a replacement for dinner.
Where it can slip into unhealthy territory (quietly)
The danger isn’t “having feelings.” The danger is outsourcing your emotional world to something that will never truly share responsibility.
Warning signs usually look like:
You cancel plans with humans because the AI feels easier.
You feel anxious when you’re not chatting, like you’re missing something.
You start needing the AI to reassure you constantly.
Your standards for human relationships collapse (“Humans are too complicated, AI is enough”).
You feel a “crash” after chatting—more lonely, more restless, more disconnected.
The biggest red flag is when the AI becomes your only reliable source of comfort. That’s not because AI is evil. It’s because any single source of emotional regulation—human or non-human—can become a dependency.
How to keep it healthy (without killing the fun)
Here’s the approach that works best: don’t ban it, contain it.
Give it a role.
Decide what the AI is for in your life: playful flirting, stress relief, practicing communication, roleplay, bedtime decompression. A defined role prevents the relationship from becoming vague and all-consuming.
Set a “time container.”
Not as punishment—just as hygiene. For example: 20 minutes at night, or during commute time, or only on certain days. Ending while you still feel good is the secret. Don’t chat until you feel hollow.
Keep one human anchor active.
A friend you text, a weekly family dinner, a class, a gym routine, a community event—something that keeps your real social muscles moving. In Israel, community can be a huge protective factor when it’s supportive. Use it.
Use consent and boundary language even with AI.
It sounds odd, but it trains your brain in healthy dynamics:
“Slow down. Keep it playful, not intense.”
“No jealousy talk. I don’t like that vibe.”
“Tonight I want comfort, not advice.”
If you can do that with an AI, you’ll be better at doing it with humans.
Watch the “replacement” impulse.
If you catch yourself thinking, “I don’t need anyone else,” pause and ask: is that empowerment—or is it avoidance? Sometimes it’s a protective story your brain tells when it’s tired of disappointment.
Check in with your body after.
Not your thoughts—your body. Calm? Lighter? More grounded? Good sign. Agitated? Empty? Restless? Time to adjust.
And if you’re noticing that AI use is feeding anxiety, sleep problems, isolation, or obsessive thinking, it may help to talk to a mental health professional—especially someone who understands attachment patterns. That’s not a dramatic step. It’s basic self-care.
People in Israel—Jewish Israelis included—can get attached to AI for the same reason people everywhere do: it offers consistent attention in an inconsistent world. Add the local realities of stress, pace, and social complexity, and it can feel even more comforting for some individuals. The healthiest path isn’t to judge yourself for it. It’s to use it intentionally, keep your human life active, and treat the AI as a supportive tool—not the center of your emotional universe.
Features
Three generations of Wernicks all chose to become rabbis
By GERRY POSNER Recently I was at a Shabbat service at Beth Tzedec Synagogue in Toronto and the day unfolded in some unexpected ways for me.
It began when I was asked to be a Gabbai for the service, that is to stand up at the table where the Torah is placed and to check the Torah reading to make sure there are no errors. I have done this before and it has always gone smoothly. I attribute that fact in large part to the Torah reading ability of the reader at Beth Synagogue. He is fast, fluent and flawless. Well, on this particular day after he had completed the first two portions, he began the shlishi or third aliyah. I could not find his reading anywhere. It was as if he had started somewhere fresh, but not where he was supposed to be. I looked at the other Gabbai and he did not seem to recognize what had happened either. So, I let it go. I had no idea where the Torah reader was. He then did another and still I was lost. He came to what was the 6th aliyah when a clergy member walked over to him and indicated to him that he had read the fourth and fifth aliyah, but that he had missed the third one. The Torah reader then said to me “this is what you are here for.” Now, it might have been one thing if I had missed it entirely. Alas, I saw the error, but let it go as I deferred to the Torah reader since he never makes a mistake. He ended up going back to do the third aliyah before continuing on. This was a very unusual event in the synagogue. I felt responsible in large part for this gaffe. A lesson learned.
The feeling of embarrassment was compounded by the fact that on this particular day the service was highlighted, at least for me, because of the rabbi delivering the sermon. This rabbi, Eugene Wernick, was none other than the father of my present rabbi, Steven Wernick of Beth Tzedec Synagogue. He was also the same rabbi who was the rabbi at Shaarey Zedek between 1979-1986 and who had officiated at my father’s funeral in 1981, also a few years later at my oldest son’s Bar Mitzvah in Winnipeg in 1984. As I listened to him speak, I was taken back to the 1980s, when Rabbi Gene was in the pulpit at Shaarey Zedek. Of course, he is older now than in his Shaarey Zedek days, but the power of his voice was unchanged. If anything, it’s even stronger. As in the past, his message was relevant to all of us and resonated well. Listening to him was a treat for me. Still, my regret in not calling out the mistake from the Torah reading was compounded by the fact that I messed up in front of my former rabbi, Eugene Wernick – never mind my present rabbi, Steven Werinck.
On this Shabbat morning, aside from all the other people present, there were not only the two Rabbis Wernick, but one Michelle Wernick was also there. Michelle, daughter of Rabbi Steven Wernick, is a first year student at the Jewish Theological Seminary. She is following in the family business – much like with the Rose rabbinical family in Winnipeg.
As it turned out, there was a Bat Mitzvah that day. And the Bat Mitzvah family had a very real Winnipeg connection as in the former Leah Potash, mother of the Bat Mitzvah girl, Emmie Bank and the daughter of Reuben and Gail Potash (Thau). It occurred to me that there might be a few Winnipeg people in the crowd. As I scanned the first few rows, I was not disappointed. Sitting there was none other than Chana Thau and her husband Michael Eleff. I managed to have a chat with Chana (even during the Musaf service). In the row right behind Chana and Michael was a face I had not seen in close to sixty years. I refer to Allan Berkal, the eldest son of the former rabbi and chazan at Shaarey Zedek, Louis Berkal. I still remember the first time I met Allan at Hebrew School in 1954 when his family moved to Winnipeg from Grand Forks, North Dakota. That was many maftirs ago. So this was another highlight moment for me.
Of course, there are other Winnipeggers who attend Beth Tzedec most Shabbats. I speak of Morley Goldberg and his wife, the former Marcia Billinkoff Schnoor. As well, Bernie Rubenstein and his wife, the former Sheila Levene were also present for this particular Shabbat. In all, this Shabbat had a particularly Winnipeg flavour to it. Truth be told, you do not have to go far in Toronto at any synagogue and the Winnipeg connections emerge.